RusCan Drabbles
by Little-Retard
Summary: A perfectly drawn angel; faking an identity; and losing breath. RusCan


**It came to me when I was waiting for my dad to go to sleep so I could make myself eggs.**

**I don't own Hetalia.**

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><p>Quiet sobs sounded throughout the cold winter's night; lonely cries of a broken soul falling on deaf ears, not to be heard in life nor death.<p>

A swing creaked, pale hands gripping rusty metal chains as a petite figure swung back and forth slowly, tears falling down their face. Feet never touched the ground as cool winds blew ash blonde strands into watery blue eyes in slow motion.

Quiet pain resounded in this park of lost hopes and dreams, but there were no children here. No longer were there giggling smiled and bubbly laughs spilling from residents of this dark land.

A single soul remained here, trapped in limbo. An angel with black wings is he; wings that are torn and bandaged. Bandages adorn his beautiful ebony wings, his ivory, crimson splattered wrists, and his pale sliced chest.

The grass was black and dead, the sky a murky purple, clouds a cotton candy pink, with rusted playground equipment all for him. A cute polar bear was lying on its side in a pool of clear liquid. It was the perfect wonderland, with soft piano music spilling on to the ground.

From a distance, on a rotted bench, sat a man with a scarf with a sketch book and pencil, who spent all his days capturing the beauty of this perfect angel in the intoxicating nirvana.

His sketch journal had an endless amount of pages; it captured every movement of the creature it had captured here.

Yes, the man with the notebook placed the angel here. He broke his wings so he couldn't fly away from him. The angel could never leave his grasp, he was too pretty, and he needed to stay here, in this equally beautiful place that he created just for him.

And then maybe tomorrow the man with the notebook would draw a new scene for him. Maybe one with the maple leaves like he liked.

But probably not. Because to the man, this is all just a game. The angel's life was never real, he was never real. So he can do anything he wants to him and it would never matter. After all, this was all a dream, wasn't it?

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><p>Chairs scraped against the hardwood floor of the hotel the world meeting was held at as the meeting was adjourned. Many filed out in pairs, giggling, arguing, kissing, anything that one could not do in solitude.<p>

A lone figure was left behind as the door slammed. The soft smile that was constantly adorning the pale face of the young north-western hemisphere country dropped, leaving a void of dead eyes.

His chair made a loud _'thud'_ as it hit the ground; he threw his papers in the garbage. It's not like he would ever use them. His steel-toed boots walked with a dull thunk across the floor, a fast pace was kept and a stone- eyed polar bear followed.

He had been with his master for years. He knew how hard it was to be ignored and hurt, and his master was painfully shattered. He may not remember his master, but he truly did understand him. He didn't remember his name, but he always saw him.

Canada opened the cherry wood door, closing it harshly behind him. He held a fast pace towards his hotel room, but slow enough that his familiar could keep up.

His room was at the end of the hall. The only room that's door was made of metal. He muttered a low explicit as he had forgotten the key, and pulled a needle and a lock pin out of his signature red hoodie.

The lock gave a click, and he swung the door open. He walked in, kicking the heavy metal frame shut with a loud _'bang'_. His familiar didn't jump. This was normal.

His boots made dull thuds as he walked towards the large bed that was hidden behind ebony curtains. One pale fist reached out as he grabbed the curtain and yanked it out of the way. He stared.

A large figure was sprawled out on his bed. The figure had a large structure, giant nose, violet eyes only a shade lighter than that which were his own, a beige scarf, and a tan overcoat. The figure smiled softly up at him, eyes shining happily, looking somewhat like a child.

"Hello, Matvey. You are ready to leave now, _da_?" The man said in a thick Russian accent while sitting up, the bed creaking under his weight.

Canada blinked twice, the expression in his eyes hidden behind a sudden glint of light on his thin- wired glasses. His eyes softened somewhat looking over the childish man, and he nodded once.

He turned away. He grabbed the loaded pistol from the bedside table. He turned his face back. His eyes glittered mischievously.

"Let's go, Ivan."

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><p>'<em>Oh, maple, really? Not again…'<em> Matthew thought as his petite body was crushed under the large stature of Russia. This hadn't been the first time it had happened, but nonetheless, it still crushed his lungs and internal organs. He also knew his entire body would be bruised and sore tomorrow.

Canada let out a shuddering breath as he tried to take a breath, not completely able to insert the sweet air into his lungs that seemed to be about to collapse from stress at any moment.

Meanwhile, Ivan frowned and began to shift in his soft seat. He loved to sit in this seat whenever he could, it was really soft, but it felt like it was moving… It was really odd feeling.

Shrugging, he took a swig of his large vodka bottle, quietly listening to the idiots bantering in front of him. They were really loud and annoying. Surely there had to be one intelligent person other than him here…

Canada, on the other hand, had had enough. He was struggling to breathe, and he needed air Maple darn it!

So, of course, Matthew decided to try to get Russia's attention. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy of a task when you were the ever so invisible Canada.

Canada did everything he could to get Ivan to notice him. He poked him, squirmed, talked, yelled, head butted, and countless other things. Yet, nothing seemed to work.

A bright light seemed to go off in Matthew's head, and he squealed in happiness at the plan. Sure, it would be really weird and embarrassing, but as long as he could breathe for the next two hours, he would be fine.

So, Matthew leaned up, stuck his tongue out, and licked Ivan's cheek.

That seemed to break the invisibility barrier on him, and everyone in the room stared at him in shock. The room went silent, and Ivan jumped up, staring at the country who has been underneath him.

Matthew stood up and dusted himself off, taking a deep breath and sighing in relief. "Finally. I thought nothing would work."

Alfred jumped up in front of his younger brother, and yelled, "Mattie! What the hell was that?"

Matthew looked up at Alfred with a calm expression. "Well, you see, I'm always sat on, and I couldn't breathe, so I tried tons of things, but nothing worked, and that was the only method of getting Mr. Russia off of me, so I tried it and it worked. Nothing more, nothing less."

Alfred's face burned, and his eyes had flames within them. Glaring, he stalked up to Russia. "You defiled my baby brother!"

'_Yebat_ʹ_.'_

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><p><strong>Russian= '<strong>**Yebat**ʹ**'= Fuck**

**Thank you all for reading, please review~!**

**Depending on reviews, this may be continued, but for now I'll put this as complete.**


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